


Murphys Laws of Combat

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphys Laws of Combat would appear to effect even giant alien robots...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murphys Laws of Combat

**1: Friendly Fire - isn’t**

“What the slag happened to you?” Ratchet’s grumbling could be heard from several corridors away, where the humans that hadn’t been whisked away by the doctors had gathered and promptly crashed in an exhausted heap. The bots themselves were taking up the corridor closer to the medbay - most of them with only minor dents and scratches - while waiting to be seen by the medic. Thankfully there were no critical injuries and instead Ratchet was working his way through the list of minor injuries, albeit with a growing amount of snark as his energy reserves ran down.

Thus it was no surprise that the medic finally snapped and clipped some bot around the helm with his weapon of choice.

“Would you care to repeat that?” Even from outside the medbay both bots and humans could clearly imagine the medic looming over his patient, wrench in hand as he waits for them to repeat whatever stupid thing they had said.

“Frag off.” The sound of metal striking metal for a second time echoed out of the medbay, followed quickly by Ironhide’s cursing.

“Well, you’ve managed to vaporise a good section of that plate and blow out most of the relays, care to tell me who landed the shot?”

There was no audible answer for the eavesdroppers outside, but Ratchet bursting into staticky laughter suggested he had received an answer of some kind.

“Oh, shut up, it's not that funny.” Hide grumbled as the medic continued to snigger.

“Hide, you manage over forty engagements without a ‘con landing anything more than a glancing blow on you, and now you are telling me that you were downed by Perceptor?” The medic didn’t wait for an answer as he degenerated back into electronic snorts of laughter; Ironhide would never be able to live this one down.

* * *

 **2\. Napalm is an area support weapon.**

The coughing wheeze of intake systems attempting to clear cooling vents was the only sound which could be heard for a long moment as mechs of both factions struggled to bring core systems back online. Optics began to light up as they rebooted after the white gold flash that had preceded the muted boom and roiling heat.

Rolling to his hands and knees Megatron snarled as he swept a hand over his still smoking chassis. Whatever it was had clung to the paint, stripping it and leaving the substance to char exposed metal and work its way into more sensitive wiring. Already his warning system was flashing messages about overheated relays. His fusion cannon was offline, flight systems heavily compromised and the wiring in one knee was feeling particularly scorched.

Glaring at Prime who had been knocked down not too far away he snarled before ordering a retreat, the weapon didn’t look to have targeted one side in particular and he could already see both Hook and Ratchet working on mechs who appeared to have been in the centre of the blast, neither of them apparently caring about factions as he watched Hook turn to the other medic and ask something, whereupon Ratchet tossed him a tool of some description before they both turned back to their patients.

Venting heavily to try and clear some of the muck in his intakes Megatron subspaced his cannon and set off towards the largest clump of his troops who were holding each up in readiness to depart as they glared across the field towards a similarly arrayed group of bots. However the glares were quickly turning into confusion as they realised the other side was also at a loss to explain what had just happened.

The clang of metal impacting metal echoed through the ranks, causing every optic to focus on the Autobot medic and his current patient who had apparently just come back online. Sitting up and glancing around the engineer proceeded to tilt his head to one side, ignoring the irate medic who was still brandishing his wrench, vocal indicators flashing a cheerful blue and green as he considered something, “I think I added a little too much energon to the mixture.”

* * *

 **3\. Whenever you lose contact with the enemy, look behind you.**

The con grinned as he exchanged blows with an Autobot amongst the rocky outcroppings surrounding the latest human energy resource they were stealing from. A smattering of bullets pinging off his armour distracted him for a moment, allowing his opponent to dance away as they disengaged. Releasing a hail of bullets he was happy to see the pesky minibot which had been targeting him dive for cover.

Returning his attention to his interrupted fight he frowned as he realised the Autobot had vanished. Turning in a full circle he scanned his surroundings for any trace of the other mech.

Rock. Rock. Rock. Tree. Rock.

Wait.

 _Tree?_

Twisting around the con yelped as his optics registered the vengeful conifer lunging towards him right before he hit the deck. Rebooting his optics he was just in time to see the evergreen fade away into the green Autobot tracker as he levelled his gun. He had only enough time for his processor to register a query before the world went dark again.

 _Of all the things the Autobot could have projected, why a tree?_

* * *

 **4\. If your attack is going really well, it's an ambush.**

“Do you ever get the feeling something is going too well?” Blackout rattled his armour panels in a shrug as Hook settled beside him, hunkered down behind a rock. “No really. It’s like they aren’t even trying.” He said as he poked his helm around the rock to look for anymore injuries while Blackout provided him some cover.

He frowned as he watched a grey Autobot take a couple of potshots at Swindle before zipping off to a new hiding place. Hook refocused his optics in surprise, and then confusion. That had been Bluestreak, one of the ‘bots best snipers and he wasn’t even aiming properly. Something was definitely not right here. No skirmish could go this well. It just didn’t happen.

The trembling of the ground and muted boom that rolled across the battlefield, followed not long after by a truly spectacular flash and a rapidly expanding black cloud, rising ominously from the direction of their base informed Hook that his suspicions had been correct.

And it only added insult to injury when an amused, and well recognised, voice broke into the swearing on the general Decepticon frequency, “Ooooooops, ‘ope yer did’n need tha’ base.”

* * *

 **5\. All-weather close air support doesn't work in bad weather.**

“I hate rain.”

Twisting to regard his gestalt mate Silverbolt vented in frustration, “the next one to make a complaint can take extra patrol shifts.” He turned back to his survey of the valley that could be seen from their perch on the side of a mountain.

There was no audible answer, but the scraping of metal as the rest of the gestalt shifted around. Patience was not their strong suit to begin with, but the heavy rain which had been falling almost non-stop since they had landed had reduced the time it took for the inevitable ‘I’m bored’ from the usual earth hour to around ten minutes.

“Silverbolt, we’re coming out hot, could use your assistance.” The gestalt visibly perked up as Jazz’s voice broke the monotony of watching raindrops bounce off the ledge they had settled on.

The sputtering of several engines stalling was followed by several curses as Silverbolt circled back around and transformed to land.

Raising an optical ridge he watched in silence as Air Raid hauled Fireflight back over the ledge his aborted take off had sent him over. Fireflight now safe, Air Raid gave a grinding shrug as he looked at his leader, wings drooping as water dripped off them.

“We told you we hated rain.”

 **6: If you need an officer in a hurry, take a nap.**

“I can’t raise red Alert or Prowl.” Cliffjumper said in exasperation as he continued to track an anomaly on the perimeter sensors.

Sideswipe looked thoughtful for a moment before a smug look crossed his faceplates, “I have an idea.”

“Great, so what...” Cliffjumper trailed off as he watched the frontline warrior power down his systems and enter recharge. “Glitch,” he muttered as he turned back to the monitor. Wasn’t that just typical, leave everything for him to do? He was about to put out a base wide request for Red Alert when the door opened and the mech in question entered, Prowl not two steps behind.

Both officers narrowed their optics at the recharging frontliner who lazily powered up an optic to identify the newcomers before bringing the rest of his systems back online.

“Told you it’d work,” he said with a grin before pointing out the glitch in the sensors before they could start yelling at him.

* * *

 **7\. Never draw fire; it irritates everyone around you.**

“Frag it.” The expletive was punctuated by an explosion of dirt and yet another blast of hot ash across already scorched armour panels.

“You know, it would probably help if you weren’t so obvious.” Trailbreaker said mainly to himself since the intended target of his comment wasn’t listening, even as he absently deflected yet another mortar shot with his energy shield. If there was any time that he wanted Hound around to hide them, now would be good. He vented soot out of his intakes as several more mortars descended towards them.

“Face it ‘Breaker, we are the easiest targets.” Hoist said in resignation as he huddled closer, wincing each time something got too close.

Looking down at his soot covered armour Trailbreaker tilted his head to one side in contemplation. “Maybe the ash will cover them?”

Both Hoist and Trailbreaker glanced over to the offending bot, who was quite oblivious to the incoming enemy fire as he tinkered with some device or other, his audial fins flashing happily in a bright kaleidoscope that clearly lit up the darkness surrounding them. A perfect beacon for enemy fire to aim for.

* * *

 **8\. If at first you don't succeed, then bomb disposal probably isn't for you.**

“Uh oh.” The pronouncement was greeted by a dead silence which was broken by an ominous beep.

“What do you mean, uh oh?” Another voice spoke up.

“The ‘Oh Slag!’ sort of uh oh.” The first clarified as yet another beep sounded.

“That’s not good.” A third voice said as several pairs of optics peered at the source of the beeping, a nondescript metal box perched on the edge of a table.

“Uh, not to point out the obvious but that’s a timer.” A metal finger pointed accusingly at the red digital display calmly counting downwards in one of the human languages.

“How do we stop it?” Silence again fell across the room as the device continued its steady descent towards zero.

A shaky hand unlatched the top of the device and four helms leant over to regard the mess of wires and components inside.

“I’m going to offline ‘Jack.” The statement was met with several sounds of agreement and another cheerful beep from the contraption. “Ok, choose a colour.”

Several pairs of optics shuttered in surprise before one of the mechs rattled his armour in a shrug. “Blue.”

All four frames tensed as the blue wire was deftly extricated from the rest and cut: the machine gave another beep as it continued its countdown.

“Green.” Another wire was snipped, also to be met with another beep.

“Yellow.” Silence. The mechs looked at each other as the device stopped counting down before relaxing.

“We did it?” Four sets of optics glanced at each other in amazement before the box decided to mock them, letting out a solid tone as the display flashed at them. The thought that the device might have had a failsafe must have occurred to all four of the mechs at the same time as they all dove for cover right before the device proceeded to decimate the table it was sat on. And several of the surrounding tables. And blow off the ceiling. And create a new doorway.

* * *

 **9\. If you find yourself in front of your platoon they know something you don't.**

“Uh, hello?” The Decepticon said to empty space as he slowed to a stop as he realised he was alone and heading into disputed territory. Where the other two members of his patrol had disappeared to he had no idea. The ping of an identity beacon let him know that he was not alone, and that the other mech was an Autobot. Rounding an outcrop of jagged metal, all that remained of the buildings in this sector of Iacon, the Decepticon frowned. A single Autobot was lounging on a pile of scrap metal.

“Hello.” The Autobot calmly said as the con stepped out of his cover, weapons beginning to hum as he charged them. “And how are you today?”

The innocent question made the con shutter his optics in confusion as he rebooted both his optics and his audios. But no, the Autobot was still there, looking not at all worried that he was about to be blown into small pieces.

“I’m good, and I’ll be even better after I offline you!”

“Now that isn’t very nice.” The still unarmed Autobot replied as he withdrew something from his subspace and regarded it with a fond look.

“Put that down.” The con ordered as he levelled his cannon, whatever it was couldn’t be that dangerous if he had taken it out of his subspace, but it never hurt to be cautious.

“If you insist.” The Autobot said as he placed the item on the ground and with a gentle nudge from one pede rolled it towards the con who glanced down at the strange blinking contraption beside his pedes for a nanoclick before slamming his blastmask down and diving for cover.

Booting up he rolled into a crouch, cannons already humming as he scanned the surrounding area for the crazy mech who kept grenades in his subspace.

“Where did you go?” He finally asked as he stared at the two cons he had been on patrol with before their abrupt vanishing act.

“I see you’ve met Wheeljack.” One of them said as he ignored the cannon that was still aimed at him.

“Wheeljack?” the con repeated in confusion as he finally powered down his weaponry.

“White and green paint scheme, strange flashing audial fins,” the con made a noise of agreement as the other went on, “update your threat profiles, he’s more dangerous than the Prime.”

“And if you pick up his signal, ignore it.” The third continued, “He probably went easy on you because he’s never seen you before. But attack him again and we’ll be using you for scrap and you’ll be explaining to Primus why you annoyed a mech with an unhealthy obsession with explosives.”

* * *

 **10\. When the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is not your friend.**

While Ratchet had treated Wheeljack for many an explosive accident this was the first time he had not been directly responsible for the incident in his lab. Despite his normal façade of competent medic the pitiful look on his friends faceplates was pushing his control to the limits. So close in fact that the muffled snicker from the youngling apprentice behind him was all it took to tip him over the edge.

“It’s not that funny.” Wheeljack muttered as he watched the two medics all but rolling on the floor in their mirth. The dented blastmask that Wheeljack had been clutching clanged off Ratchets helm as the older medic attempted to calm down, only to glance at First Aid and start all over again.

Wheeljack huffed as he rubbed at the soot coating his paint. It really wasn’t fair. Ratchet got the calm, quiet, intelligent one, well, usually calm and quiet he amended as he shot the two cackling medics another glare. But why did the other four hooligans decide that he would make a good mentor. As if he didn’t have enough trouble stopping his own projects from spontaneously combusting he also had four lively, energetic younglings with no sense of self preservation running round his lab.

If he ever found out who had given the four of them a grenade (and painted a quite good replica of a mechs face on it) before instructing them to give it to him, well, he had a lot of projects which still needed testing.

Although, to be fair, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if they had known the most vital piece of information: under no circumstances do you pull out the pin before passing it to your caretaker.


End file.
